Эдит Несбит - Many Voices стр 2.

Heres a rose that blows for Chloe,
   Fair as ever a rose in June was,
Now the gardens silent, snowy,
   Where the burning summer noon was.

In your gardens summer glory
   One poor corner, shelved and shady,
Told no rosy, radiant story,
   Grew no rose to grace its lady.

What shuts sun out shuts out snow too;
   From his nook your secret lover
Shows what slighted roses grow to
   When the rose you chose is over.

I was picking raspberries, my head was in the canes,
And he came behind and kissed me, and I smacked him for his pains.
Says he, You take it easy!  That aint the way to do!
I love you hot as fire, my girl, and you know you know it too.
So wont you name the day?
But I said, That I will not.
And I pushed him away,
Out among the raspberries all on a summer day.
And I says, You ask in winter, if your loves so hot,
For its summer now, and sunny, and my hands is full, says I,
With the fair by and by,
And the village dance and all;
And the turkey poults is small,
And sos the ducks and chicks,
And the hay not yet in ricks,
And the flower-showll be presently and hop-pickings to come,
And the fruiting and the harvest home,
And my new white gown to make, and the jam all to be done.
Cant you leave a girl alone?
Your loves too hot for me!
Cant you leave a girl be
Till the evenings do draw in,
Till the leaves be getting thin,
Till the fires be lighted early, and the curtains drawed for tea?
Thats the time to do your courting, if you come a-courting me!

And he took it as I said it, an not as it was meant.
And he went.

The hay was stacked, the fruit was picked, the hops were dry and brown,
And everything was garnered, and the year turned upside down,
And the winter it come on, and the fires were early lit,
And hed never come anigh again, and all my life was sick.
And I was cold alone, with nought to do but sit
With my hands in my black lap, and hear the clock tick.
For father, he lay dead
With the candles at his head,
And his coffin was that black I could see it through the wall;
And Id sent them all away,
Though theyd offered for to stay.
I wanted to be cold alone, and learn to bear it all.
Then I heard him.  Id a-known it for his footstep just as plain
If hed brought his regiment with him up the rutty frozen lane.
And I hadnt drawed the curtains, and I see him through the pane;
And I jumped up in my blacks and I threw the door back wide.
Says I, You come inside;
For its cold outside for you,
And its cold here too;
And I havent no more pride
Its too cold for that, I cried.

Then I saw in his face
The fear of death, and desire.
And oh, I took and kissed him again and again,
And I clipped him close and all,
In the winter, in the dusk, in the quiet house-place,
With the coffin lying black and full the other side the wall;
And You warm my heart, I told him, if theres any fire in men!
And he got his two arms round me, and I felt the fire then.
And I warmed my heart at the fire.

Now the Spring is waking,
   Very shy as yet,
Busy mending, making
   Grass and violet.
Frowsy Winters over:
   See the budding lane!
Go and meet your lover:
   Spring is here again!

Every day is longer
   Than the day before;
Lambs are whiter, stronger,
   Birds sing more and more;
Woods are less than shady,
   Griefs are more than vain
Go and kiss your lady:
   Spring is here again!

         So good-bye!
This is where we end it, you and I.
Lifes to live, you know, and deaths to die;
         So good-bye!

         I was yours
For the love in life that loves while life endures,
For the earth-path that the Heaven-flight ensures
         I was yours.

         You were mine
For the moment that a garland takes to twine,
For the human hour that sorcery shews divine
         You were mine.

         All is over.
You and I no more are love and lover;
Noughts to seek now, gain, attain, discover.
         All is over.

Life is a night all dark and wild,
   Yet still stars shine:
This moment is a star, my child
   Your star and mine.

Life is a desert dry and drear,
   Undewed, unblest;
This hour is an oasis, dear;
   Here let us rest.

Life is a sea of windy spray,
   Cold, fierce and free:
An isle enchanted is to-day
   For you and me.

Forget night, sea, and desert: take
   The gift supreme,
And, of lifes brief relenting, make
   A deathless dream.

If you loved me I could trust you to your fancys furthest bound
While the sun shone and the wind blew, and the world went round,
To the utmost of the meshes of the devils strongest net . . .
If you loved me, if you loved mebut you do not love me yet!

I love youand I cannot trust you further than the door!
But winds and worlds and seasons change, and you will love me more
And moreuntil I trust you, dear, as women do trust men
I shall trust you, I shall trust you, but I shall not love you then!

We do not clamour for vengeance,
   We do not whine for fear;
We have cried in the outer darkness
   Where was no man to hear.
We cried to man and he heard not;
   Yet we thought God heard us pray;
But our God, who loved and was sorry
   Our God is taken away.

Ours were the stream and the pasture,
   Forest and fen were ours;
Ours were the wild wood-creatures,
   The wild sweet berries and flowers.
You have taken our heirlooms from us,
   And hardly you let us save
Enough of our woods for a cradle,
   Enough of our earth for a grave.

You took the wood and the cornland,
   Where still we tilled and felled;
You took the mine and quarry,
   And all you took you held.
The limbs of our weanling children
   You crushed in your mills of power;
And you made our bearing women toil
   To the very bearing hour.

You have taken our clean quick longings,
   Our joy in lover and wife,
Our hope of the sunset quiet
   At the evening end of life;
You have taken the land that bore us,
   Its soil and stone and sod;
You have taken our faith in each other
   And now you have taken our God.

When our God came down from Heaven
   He came among men, a Man,
Eating and drinking and working
   As common people can;
And the common people received Him
   While the rich men turned away.
But what have we to do with a God
   To whom the rich men pray?

He hangs, a dead God, on your altars,
   Who lived a Man among men,
You have taken away our Lord
   And we cannot find Him again.
You have not left us a handful
   Of even the earth He trod . . .
You have made Him a rich mans idol
   Who came as a poor mans God.

He promised the poor His heaven,
   He loved and lived with the poor;
He said that the rich mans shadow
   Should never darken His door:
But bishops and priests lie softly,
   Drink full and are fully fed
In the Name of the Lord, who had not
   Where to lay His head.

This is the God you have stolen,
   As you steal all elsein His name.
You have taken the ease and the honour,
   Left us the toil and the shame.
You have chosen the seat of Dives,
   We lie where Lazarus lay;
But, by God, we will not yield you our God,
   You shall not take Him away.

All else we had you have taken;
   All else, but not this, not this.
The God of Heaven is ours, is ours,
   And the poor are His, are His.
Is He ours?  Is He yours?  Give answer!
   For both He cannot be.
And if He is oursO you rich men,
   Then whose, in Gods name, are ye?